I Take the Bait

"You would make a great Oriental."

"Wha..." I gulp, pausing with the paper towel I have been using to clean the top of the kitchen island. Where did that come from? Dare I ask for clarification? Is it possible it's a compliment? No, of course not. If I speak, or even stay in the room long enough for my mom to realize I have not responded verbally, she will keep talking and it will end up a slur to all people in Asia and any one who ever had ancestors from Asia, as well as a well placed dig at some foible or defect of my own.

My brain is spinning. How can I extricate myself? I am obviously in the middle of something, I can't just walk out. I consider blurting out "Gotta go, Christmas tree's on fire," but I can't do the right thing. I have to know. Like the proverbial cat, my insatiable curiosity is going to be my downfall.

"What do you mean, I would make a good Oriental? Are we talking carpets?"

"No, I mean with the cleaning. You're just like an Oriental - they are always cleaning - they keep their kitchens so clean." They do? How many Oriental kitchens have you been in, Ma?

"I did not know that. I had never heard that particular stereotype"

"It's not a stereotype. They do. You know that Chinese woman I used to take care of? She was always cleaning and telling me to clean her kitchen." Mom did a stint as a sitter when people would go out of town and needed someone to care for their elders in their absence. So that's it. My mother's experience with one woman ostensibly from China translates into unequivocal truth for the population of an entire landmass and many large islands therearound.

"Mom, that's ONE PERSON."

"Oh, and your uncle's wife, too. All the Chinese are like that."

"Way's not Chinese, she's Malaysian." OK, of Chinese descent. Now she's got me so worked up I'm just being contrary. This is so wrong on so many levels I'm trying to deconstruct the many flaws in her logic, but I settle for using all my energy to JUST SHUT UP. Like a violent ocean wave, it will pass if I just let it.

Does this stuff happen to anyone else?

Ringer

I am sitting at my desk, upstairs in my office. I just brought the phone to my mom, because my brother called her on my number, rather than using the number that gives it a special ring so she knows its for her. I handed my mom the phone and she started yelling into it like it was a deaf, non-English speaking contraption from Mars. I walked back upstairs and went back to work.

She bellows from her living room, which is where the garage used to be, down a flight of stairs, through the kitchen, and down the hall. She uses a shortened, one syllable variant of my name (the name she gave me). But she stretches it out to several syllables, bending the note and letting her voice crack with each one: "Cah-ah-ahn!!!" I, making a big show of patience (to whom? I am alone upstairs), restrain a loud sigh and pick up the cordless on the desk next to me. "Yes?" I say politely.

"Are you on the phone?"

"No, I just brought you the phone when Gary called."

"You are not using it now?"

"Well, I picked it up when you called so you wouldn't have to yell."

She pauses a moment to process this. "Does your fax machine just cut in when you are on a call?"

"I don't have a fax machine."

"Well, it just cut in and made an awful noise and then that 'schhh schhh' sound. We're you trying to use it?" I still don't have a fax machine.

"No, mom, I don't know what it could be."

Pause. She's waiting for me to offer to do something, but I don't know what it is. "I guess I'll just call him back."

"OK. I'll hang up now."

My sister thinks she's getting old and forgetting things. I don't. I think she's just getting worse at whatever that thing is that's wrong with her.

Technical Difficulties

Blogger locked me out of my own anonymous blog, and you missed out on months and months of complaining! But I'm back, with unbelievable stories about the woman who raised me who now poisons my life from within my own house. There is no escape.

OK. That was a little harsh. It's just how I feel right now. What good is an anonymous blog if you can't say what you really feel?